


Demons Run

by lorcathegreat



Category: Thief (Video Games)
Genre: Blood, Possession, The Trickster - Freeform, a wild rampage, keepers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-09
Updated: 2014-10-09
Packaged: 2018-02-20 13:03:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,151
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2429828
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lorcathegreat/pseuds/lorcathegreat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Garrett returns from Moira Asylum with a little more than just information.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Basso’s boat rocked beneath him, his companion oddly quiet after their meeting at the dock. Garrett shifted on the seat, gaze focusing on some point far off across the river while his mind strayed. He thought upon everything and nothing, each idea fleeting. Those creatures in the prison deep underneath Moira, the odd waking hallucinations, Erin… What did it all mean?

Garrett had taken an inventory of his physical state as he always did after a wild chase through The City. Besides the usual bruises he was fine if not more tired than usual. There was a pressure headache building behind his eyes, but that could be attributed to a number of things, the first being the rampant thoughts that would not leave him alone. That and the almost constant ache behind his right eye.

Besides that, there just was something a little off. It was as if someone had moved every piece of furniture in his mind just two inches to the left. It was not too surprising, with all he had been through over the course of the past few hours. Exploring that empty asylum, avoiding that night watchman as it thumped out the metronome Garrett could still hear and feel deep in his chest. Then later in the lower levels creeping around the more violent patients and delving into the prison level where those freaks dwelled. Then there was that odd shrine enveloped with moss that he had stumbled upon. What had that even been? And all that had been before he had come across Erin’s ghost… or was she even really dead?

Garrett shook his head and caught Basso’s worried expression out of the corner of his eye. After a few swift strokes at the oars the man finally spoke.

“What’d you see in there?”

It took Garrett a moment to reply, voice as soft as the river flowing beneath them. “Ghosts, monsters, visions… Erin.”

“She’s alive?” Basso started, the boat rocking beneath them as he lurched forward. Garrett grimaced as he steadied himself.

“I’m not sure.”

Basso rattled on, Garrett tuning him out, far too occupied with his own thoughts to concentrate on the other man’s ramblings. A sudden wave of vertigo washed over him, pain in his right eye flaring. Despite himself, he clutched at the right side of his face and took in a swift hissing breath.

“Garrett?” Basso’s concern was clear in his tone.

“Just keep rowing,” Garrett instructed through clenched teeth.

Something was wrong, that much was clear. Not just with The City, but something within him stirred and roiled. It was a small point of hot rage that beat around in his chest. He had been so focused on avoiding those freakish creatures that he had not noticed it before then, but he could pinpoint just when it had begun. The shrine. There had been something odd about it, and that was saying quite a bit given all that Garrett had seen that night. Odd and ancient symbols had been carved into the old stone wall, obscured by moss that was both richly green and deep blood red.

Just as Garrett thought upon it, the memory fleeted away, lost in a bright flash of green. The pain in his head redoubled but he allowed no indication of it. Basso was worried enough as it was; there was no use in worrying him further. Garrett just needed sleep, needed time to think over just what had happened in Moira Asylum.

They arrived at Siren’s Rest and Garrett made a swift departure. He barely noticed his body moving as he made his way to the Clock Tower, each motion practiced and automatic. Once safely in his lofty home he stripped his leather gear off and fell upon his mattress, exhaustion weighing him down. The musty smell of old hay filled his senses, an odd comfort. The deep drone and whirr of the massive gears of the clockwork lulled him to sleep and he fell into unconsciousness.

\---

The Creature woke, looking through eyes that were so narrow and plagued by those dastardly confines of mortality. It looked down at its body. A tiny thing, though stronger than it first appeared. The hands were next to be inspected. Long fingers, soft palms, calluses carefully built and precisely placed. This body was skilled, so finely tuned and gloriously finished. It was better than The Creature had ever anticipated.

It had been decades - no centuries even, mortal time was so hard to keep track of - that it had filled a mortal form, breathed in the air of the world. That it had found a body so perfectly attuned was astonishing. The last mortal it had taken over had been some religious zealot, squishy with fat and with a mind so focused on one thought it had been hard to maneuver through them. No, this body, this mind… he was curious. Curious of all things both material and not. His mind was just beginning to open to the possibility of the supernatural. A perfect playground.

The Creature grinned with those borrowed lips and stood, the body moving like silk in the wind at his every whim. It emerged from beneath the stairs and was confronted by the massive moving mechanism. Something bloomed in the body’s chest beneath the Creature’s control.

“Is that pride? Seems you have many demons inside you already.” The body’s voice was soft, gravely, like it was a rare thing for him to speak. Curious. The Creature grinned again. “There is only room enough for one demon in you. Just how much of me can you take?” That small rustling whisper of a thought in the chest replied with a surge of defiance. “You have strength, I’ll give you that. Now be quiet. I have business to take care of.” The Creature crushed that small piece of its host, the tiny whisper extinguished like a guttering candle.

The Creature - no, Demon was more the word it liked - walked on light feet to the table beside the bed. A bowl and a bar of soap stood there, alongside other grooming tools. “For living in such mess you certainly preen yourself well, little thief.” Yes, a thief. That was its host’s profession. “What do you look like, I wonder? You don’t seem to care much. Not a mirror to be found.” A flash of memory came unbidden from that tiny point in its chest. A small boy, a hollow expression. “Is that you? Is that what you think of yourself?” The Demon laughed with its borrowed voice, the sound odd and even the tiny point in its chest was surprised. “Don’t laugh often? You are full of mysteries, little thief.”

_I like to keep it that way._

The Demon started. That voice… “Strength indeed! Not many hosts can retain their consciousness while I take them over, let alone have their thoughts heard. I applaud your efforts.”

The point in his chest, that small voice of the little thief remained silent. The Demon turned next to the meticulously piled leather equipment. The body automatically knew what to do and the Demon simply sat back as its host dressed it in that glorious leather. So much leather.

“The ladies must love you.”

_You obviously don’t know anything about me_.

The Demon grinned. “Don’t I though? I am privy to your every thought, every memory of your past and every emotion you have ever felt. I see you even as you cannot see yourself. You were once arrogant but have since been humbled, even more so with recent events. You thrive in your loneliness but you are not immune to its sting. You are terrified of a cage. You are terrified even now, of not being in control.” The little thief remained silent but he burned with embarrassment, with shame, with the truth of the Demon’s words.

“I can make you all that you want to be, little thief. I can make you invisible to all who seek you out; I can make you silent and able to drift through walls like the ghost that you have always tried to become.”

_I don’t need you._

“Oh perhaps not, but you are in no position to be rid of me either.”

With that phrase still tickling its lips, the Demon departed the Clock Tower. The City was a massive sprawling expanse before it. So much had changed since it had last walked those streets. In those times the ones who had worshipped its kind still held power, still were able to call upon the ancient spells. There was none of that power in The City any longer. It weakened the Demon, yet the heart of The City still flowed with strength. It was sick, corrupted, wild, but still there. The Trickster had been destroyed centuries before and thus the Demon’s direct channel to The City’s power had been cut off. It simply had to pull its own strength while drawing on the wild power hushing through the streets.

It seemed the days of the Trickster were over, but there was still some fun to be had even without that surge of energy. Hell, even without that power to use, the body of the little thief would be fun to play with.

_I am not a toy_.

“All mortals are toys to Demons, little thief.”

The Demon focused on the streets below and its vision darkened, spots of blue illuminating before it. It had the taste of Primal, raw and searing. It was beautiful. “Oh this is a marvelous gift! I can see everything. Tell me, little thief, how did you come upon this?” Seemingly unbidden to the little thief’s wants, a brief scene flashed through the Demon’s thoughts. A tall glass roof, the shriek of a woman, the sensation of falling, a bright flash-

The Demon laughed, throat rasping with the sound. “You petty humans and your desire to have control over what you do not understand. What came of it, I wonder?”

Some fleeting thought passed through the little thief’s thread of consciousness, so light that the Demon barely caught it. When it did it felt the little thief’s immediate regret. “What are those marvelous creatures? Freaks, you call them? Perhaps I won’t have to think of fun things to do. Seems The City is just as rampant with terrible creatures as the last time I visited. Shall we?”

With that, the Demon made its way down the Clock Tower using the information being unconsciously fed to him from the little thief. He was just a store of useful information and so forthcoming in revealing that knowledge. The Demon suspected that the little thief was allowing that channel to remain open for both of their sakes. The little thief did not want his body injured and the Demon did not want to have to deal with a broken vessel. If this body died it would be sent back to the decaying realm of the Trickster. That would be inconvenient. It had plans and waiting another century or two for a new vessel to present itself would be tedious.

The Demon set foot onto the cobblestone street, a rush of energy filling him. It seemed the Primal was leaking its corrupted energy everywhere. It did not even need to be channeled by a higher god like the Trickster. It was wild and free. The sickness that clung to the streets was a glorious side effect. The suffering and death that wafted through the air was nourishing and the Demon fed off of it, feeling the return of powers it had gone so long without.

All it needed was green life and then the plan could begin.

The Demon closed its eyes and felt for signs of green leafy life. All he found were shriveled roots and dried leaves. “Where has all the green gone?”

_People were too busy trying to keep themselves alive to bother with the plants, though there was not much to start with_.

“And we surely have the Hammerites to blame for that, or are the Mechanists to blame?”

_Take it up with the Baron. He’s the one who built the factories._

“You are just so full of cheer. No matter. I can make my own green life. I’ll just have to sacrifice some of yours.” The briefest flash of worry passed through the little thief. The Demon reveled in that spike of anxiety, felt that rush through the body and give it energy.

It searched next for rich soil in which it could plant the seeds of growth, of power. There. To the west, in the Old Quarter. Those streets it knew, even though time had crumbled them.

The body moved swiftly, fluidly. It was like smoke fleeting through the shadows. Even without the Demon’s added power it was magnificent. With extra power it was unstoppable. Whatever shortcomings came with a mortal body, limits of stamina, speed and stealth, the Demon made up for tenfold. It dashed through the streets cloaked in a dark pit of shadow. If it was seen, the memory of that swiftly moving shadow became a mere phantom of a thought. The Demon could feel the little thief’s awe no matter how he tried to suppress it.

“Impressive, no?” Even the body’s voice was hushed, disguised as a whisper of the wind to all those who happened to hear it.

_Unnecessary._

The Demon barked out a laugh. “Jealous?”

_No_.

“Keep lying to yourself. I can see the truth.” The little thief remained silent. Victorious, the Demon made its way to the Old Quarter, to the outskirts of the Old Cathedral. Once it had been a magnificent structure built by the skilled hands of the Hammerites, their tools aided by the power of the Builder. Everything that cathedral stood for the Demon stood against. It was hard stone while the Trickster had been supple and lush foliage.

The Demon came to the cemetery, the soil rich with the flesh of the long dead. That was only half of the old magic. The living survived off of all that the dead left behind, but in extracting that energy a living sacrifice had to be made.

A small blade found its way into the Demon’s hand, the metal inching closer to the little thief’s soft fleshy hand.

The body froze.

The Demon gritted its teeth, struggling to inch the blade closer but unable to do so. “You really are a strong one. Stubborn too,” the Demon spoke through clenched teeth. “Just a prick, you can allow me just that.”

The little thief remained silent, the struggle to keep even that small amount of control over his own body taking all of his concentration. Stubborn indeed. The Demon took in a deep breath, drawing in the wild Primal energy as it did so. In one forceful push he broke the hold the little thief had on him. The control snapped like a new spring branch, the presence that had slowly been building in the Demon’s chest withering and falling silent. He would be back, the Demon knew. He was strong enough and stubborn enough.

For now the little thief was silent and the Demon had full control once more. True to its word, it only made a small prick on its host’s middle finger. A single drop of blood welled on the pale and calloused skin. The Demon held out its hand and let the drop fall, watching with rapt attention as it splattered on the barren soil. Drawing in more of that wild energy, the Demon focused it on that small point of red seeping into the damp dirt. What was once a nourishing substance to its host then became a seed of life. A tendril of green emerged from the soil and grew even as the Demon looked on. It coaxed the green life to grow tall, to bend when it reached high overhead, and to curl back down to the ground in a grand archway. The trunk thickened though was still green and lacked protective bark. Indeed, the influence of the Trickster was long gone. In full strength, the Trickster would grant an abundance of energy to anything with green life. To anyone with the knowledge and skill, the Demon included, a simple blade of grass could be transformed into a grand oak tree in the span of a single night. But that time was long past.

The Demon could mourn it later. For now it had business to attend. It would take a lot more energy than simply growing that weak archway to accomplish. It sat upon the ground before its creation, connecting to the streams of energy that connected all things within The City. Each building, each brick, even the people asleep in their beds or dying on the streets were connected through that Primal energy. This the Demon fed upon, that almost blinding pale blue light filling its every sense.

“ _Garrett_.”

The woman’s voice startled the Demon, though not so much that he lost control over the gathering energy. It was the same voice as the scream in the little thief’s vision. “So that’s who is influencing the energy. Who is she?”

The softest whisper of a thought answered. _Erin_.

“Getting some strength back are we, little thief? You put up a rather formidable fight. Too bad I don’t have time for your games.” As the little thief remained silent, the Demon delved deeper into the wild Primal energy. It took a while but eventually it gathered enough. In one sweeping spell the Demon grounded it to the base of the archway, seeking out the place it wanted to go, and raised the energy like a curtain from the rich soil to hang from the top of the archway. The Demon looked at its handiwork. The portal was not as strong as it once could have been. It could not allow physical passage between the Trickster realm and this one, but it did not need to. All the Demon needed was a conduit to channel the spirits of his brethren.

It opened up the body of the little thief and welcomed in the army.


	2. Chapter 2

Voices. So many voices. Each one connected to a presence, each one unique in feel. Some were slimy, others effervescent. Some raged around in a mad frenzy while others lurked in the dark reaches outside of Garrett’s consciousness. But each and every one drifted past the metaphysical bubble that encased all that he was, slowed and appraised him, like so many shoppers apathetically browsing wares in a shop. With the onslaught it was all he could do to keep himself separate from all those malicious entities, let alone see what the Demon was doing with his body. That took enough concentration in itself to do. “Speaking” to the Demon was another ordeal entirely and interfering with its movement like he had done to stop the blade… it had exhausted him. He had almost ceased to be after that one violent burst of strength and opposition. Garrett needed time to regain himself, to gather energy. Unfortunately that was next to impossible with the entities screaming around him.

What had gone wrong, what had happened? The last he remembered he had fallen asleep in his Clock Tower, then he had woken to complete blackness, a sickly thing creeping about in his mind. He looked out eyes that were not his own, he barely felt the movement of his own limbs as they were controlled by something outside of himself.

Garrett was terrified. He had been in a number of scrapes and all of those he had survived through by his own will and skill. But now… he did not even have control over himself and that voice that spoke through his mouth, that entity that had taken him over… it was not leaving without a fight. Garrett had to bid his time, wait for an opportunity. He just hoped it came before the Demon controlling his body turned the whole City upside down.

\---

The Demon hated the crowd, hated all the insisting voices telling it what to do and how, asking it questions. It ignored its brethren in favor of altering the portal to one that could transport physical beings. Not from the realm of the Trickster, no. That would require more energy than was available. Besides, those rat people and bug monsters had little influence over green life. The portal it created was to somewhere within this City, deep underground and quite close to where the Old Cathedral stood. It was there that it sensed the corrupted and deliciously monstrous “Freaks” as the little thief had called them.

They were once humans though long corrupted by the wild force of the Primal. Still infused with that power, the Demon’s brethren would have no trouble attaching themselves and controlling those beasts. Even better, the other spirits would not be able to speak as the Freaks had lost the ability along with their sanity. They would be a mindless army that it could control. Oh this was going to be fun.

The portal opened to a dark cavern. The Demon focused the little thief’s glorious eye and fifteen humanoid shapes scurried about in the dark, glowing bright blue. Huge, bright eyes were illuminated with Primal energy, all turned to look at the one who had opened the door. They were drawn to the Primal energy in the little thief’s eye. Convenient.

In a rush the Freaks charged towards the portal. Movements fluid as smoke, the Demon took each one as they came, touching its hand to the bald heads. With each touch a single spirit implanted itself into the deranged consciousness of the Freak. Soon the Demon was surrounded by those Freaks, each one contorting as the host fought with and lost to the power of the minor demons within them. Before long those lax faces were piercing, some distant intelligence filling those Primal and animalistic eyes.

“Welcome to the mortal world, brethren,” the Demon announced and was met with a chorus of hisses that seemed to be in praise. They were not attacking, rather looking up to the one who had brought them there. “Long has the influence of the Trickster gone untended. I bring you to this place so full of chaos and power so we can make it ours once more.” Another round of appraising hisses. “Feast upon this wild power, feast upon the power in your vessels. Take it in and follow my lead.”

With that the Demon shut the portal, dispersing the remaining energy into the ground. As if following an order that had not yet been spoken, one of the Freaks bit its own arm, rich red blood spilling forth. Collectively the Demon’s followers worked and turned the blood into roots, into a veritable forest grove. It did not quite reach the top of the surrounding wall of the graveyard but the trunks were thick and strong. The Demon could already feel the green life giving off energy and it drank in the supple and crisp strength.

_The City needed a gardener._

Delight filled the Demon’s chest. “Oh, you’re back? Care to watch as I reclaim your precious City in the name of the Trickster?”

_The people in this City don’t know about the Trickster anymore. He is a myth. You might be able to give The City a good makeover at best._

The Demon gave a wicked grin. “We will see.” To his Freak followers it announced, “Go forth into The City. Find any spare patch of dirt. Spill blood and fill this sickly air with green life. Do so in the name of the Trickster and in the name of me, his dedicated second in command.”

The roar that issued from the collective group was deafening, delightfully chilling, and more than heavy with bloodlust. The Demon added its own voice to the cry and swept through the streets alongside them, a dark cloud of smoke amidst those deformed and pale creatures leaping and crawling like so many insects trying desperately to escape a flood.

It reveled in the shrieks and cries of terror that echoed all along the streets as they advanced, spilling the blood of any hapless passerby. It sunk its vessel’s teeth into the throat of one man, tearing at the flesh and leaving him to bleed. As the blood trickled in between the cobblestones, new green life sprouted. Every street they turned down was left spattered with crimson and lush with deep green. It was astounding how much blood was contained in a single body, let alone the half dozen they had thus far slaughtered.

The Demon could feel that tiny presence in its chest roil with disgust, twist with helplessness. It wiped blood from its chin, rolling the blood around its tongue. “You humans are so soft, so fragile. Even now I feel your body weakening. Pitiful. You need so much nourishment it’s a wonder you ever get anything done. Shall we feast?”

The disgust redoubled and the Demon could feel the little thief struggling to put up a fight. It laughed. “Blood is only food for the green life. We cannot waste any of it on keeping this body functioning. You are spared of that.” The breath of relief from the little thief was brief and swiftly cut off as the Demon came to the Docks and found what it had been searching for.

As the Freaks swarmed about, tearing at any man they came across and liberally spilling blood all about, the Demon came to what appeared to be the catch of the day.

“You see, little thief, it is not often we come across fresh fish in the realm of the Trickster. We feast off of the fruit given to us by the green life. But this, this is a delicacy.” It lifted a fish the size of its host’s hand and bit it in two. Tiny bones crunched deliciously among the softer flesh, the rank smell of it mixed with the saltiness that still clung to the scales. The Demon laughed with its stolen voice and chewed with its stolen mouth to nourish its stolen body. It ate three more fish before the body felt sated.

The little thief remained silent even as the Demon continued its rampage driven by bloodlust. It was so thrilling, so excruciatingly delightful to let itself go and run wild with its brethren. By the time the Demon came to its senses it was practically dripping with blood, fresh and tepid layering atop cool and congealing. The taste of it in its mouth, the feel of it between its fingers… it was like touching life itself. It was awash with victory, the rich smell of clean foliage mixing beautifully with the heavy metallic scent of the blood that brought it to life.

There was a tiny voice, so soft that the Demon almost did not hear it.

“What was that, little thief?” The Demon’s grin was wide and crazed, so overcome with delight it was almost in rapture.

_What exactly are you planning on doing now that you made a garden out of The City? You going to take your produce to market?_ The voice had a sneer to it, defiance and anger radiating from that tiny point in the Demon’s chest.

“Oh I love how curious you are, little thief. As thanks for providing me with this marvelous body I’ll humor you. You see, we under the power of the Trickster get power from all that is green and alive. Now that there is so much of that we can begin the resurrection.”

_You are going to revive a god that’s been dead for centuries? You were his second in command. Why not take his place?_

The little thief’s words caught the Demon. Become the Trickster himself? “I was always beneath him no matter how I tried to appease him. You are very bright, little thief. I might have to reward you.”

To that the little thief did not respond. He did not even give an indication of an emotion. Curious. The Demon thought upon the revelation. If it were to become the next Trickster, it would need more power. Much more. Not only from this realm but from the realm of the Trickster. A thought came almost unbidden and the Demon latched onto it.

“My brethren!” The Demon’s voice thundered out, cutting off the snarling chaos issuing from its Freak followers. They gathered before it in an instant, frantically scrambling limbs almost comical. “It is time you returned to our realm. We must feed our dying realm with this fresh green life energy. Gather all you can as we return to the portal.”

It was a slow procession back to the graveyard behind the Old Cathedral. The Demon wound its way through the dense foliage that filled the streets along the path they had taken. It breathed in the power, the crisp and clean air. The Freak followers snarled and hissed all about, gathering the power where they could. It was still fresh and new, nothing like the old forests of long ago. But still it held enough power for the plan that was still formulating.

All gathered before the portal once more, the Demon reached inside itself and opened up the portal once more. This time there was an abundance of power and creating a direct link to the realm of the Trickster was a simple thing.

Without even an order the Freak followers dashed into that glowing portal, carrying with them the energy they had gathered. A thought drifted into the Demon’s mind and it closed the portal, lest anything enter or exit it while it was gone. There was other business that needed tending. Another graveyard beside a different place of worship. The City blurred by as it swept through the streets, now devoid of life. It seemed that news of the chaos of the rampage had spread even that far north and not a soul, not even those faithful Watchmen, dared to put their lives on the line. The Demon and its Freak followers had killed only a dozen humans, hardly noteworthy compared to the droves that fell long ago. Still the mortals cowered in fear. Pitiful.

That structure the Demon was searching for rose out of the drab buildings, bare spires jutting out of the ground amid walls that had crumbled long before. When it finally arrived the briefest question passed through its mind. Why had it come there?

The question was never answered. A searing pain shot through the eye of the body it possessed, the legs collapsed and a hand came to cover the right side of its face. Mortal pain was no consequence to the Demon, though it appeared to cripple the body it wore. Annoying. No matter, pain was fleeting and once it came to full power as the new Trickster it could shed the mortal skin and become its true form.

It began to rain. Not the light mist of a late night but a sudden downpour that immediately soaked all who stood in it. The heady smell of blood that clung all about the Demon was dampened by the smell of muddy earth.

“See, even The City wants the presence of the Trickster. It nourishes the new roots!”

_You might want to check that again_.

“What?” It was then that it finally felt the rain. It felt like acid on its cheeks, draining the very energy it held with each subsequent drop. The rain brought illness, disease. None that would hurt mortals, but the plants… the plants were rotting. The Demon reached into the flow of green energy and found it dwindling, collapsing and once more becoming wild Primal power.

The Demon let out an enraged howl to the betraying sky. It tried to move but a sudden burst of light caught it, spreading its arms out to the side and lifting its body off the ground. The rain continued to fall, illuminated by that bright pale blue glow. The Demon struggled against the hold but found it could not move no matter how much it strained.

That light, that power. It was impossible. It had been destroyed long ago.

Out of the dark and beyond the beam of light several robed figures emerged from the dark. One of them spoke, her rough voice betraying her old age.

“Servant of the Trickster, you have tilted this City already on the edge of balance.”

The Demon snarled down at the hunched figure standing just beyond the beam of light. If it could only move, the old woman would not survive through the next breath. “Keepers. I thought you had vanished.”

A stray thought from the little thief identified the woman. The Queen of Beggars he called her. She spoke. “The Keepers will always persevere. While you crept back to your realm to rot, we remained. It is our duty to keep the balance. You being in this place set it off balance and we were forced to interfere.”

The Demon continued its useless struggle and bore its borrowed teeth. “What power do you use?”

The Queen of Beggars obliged the question, her gentle voice carrying over the torrential rain without her even needing to raise her volume. There was deep power in this woman. “There are still some who know the power of the runes. It was almost forgotten, almost lost, but like the Keepers themselves they survived. It is not in the future of The City for you to thrive here. The time of Hammerites and Pagans has passed, that old feud long turned to ash. And to ash you must go.”

“You would harm this little thief?” That small presence in its chest stirred upon the mention but remained silent and stoic. “He thinks so highly of you and you would dare sacrifice him?”

The woman’s voice was as unwavering as ever. “He has withstood much in his short life. He is withstanding you. He will withstand much more to come.”

“I control him!” The Demon raged, ragged voice echoing off the high and crumbling chapel.

“Not as much as you thought. In fact, it might just be the opposite.”

What did she mean? “I am the new Trickster!”

“You will never be the Trickster. You are but a flea on his dead carcass, living off his rotting flesh.” The Queen of Beggars drew a symbol in the mud and the surrounding robed figures began a steady, low chant. The old language that had sung the original powers into being. The language of prophecies and of the old magic. “Even with no tools and not even his body to control, Garrett managed to convince you to lock away your servants and come here.”

“I did those things, I made the choice!” The Demon howled, though the seed of doubt took root.

“Just as you are in Garrett’s body, he is in your mind. He is cleaver and more resourceful than you give him credit.”

“No!” The Demon raged, screaming with its borrowed voice as a new force clutched it about the chest. Those ancient words wrapped around it. They tore into the Demon’s very soul, ripping it almost in two. The cry that emerged from the body of the little thief was hardly human, a sound that could shatter both glass and the hearts of even the foulest creatures. All at once it was both inside and outside its host, using its demonic voice as well as the one of the mortal.

The chanting rose in volume, in intensity until it was the only thing the Demon could hear. Not even its own rabid yells and shrieks could drown it out. It rose higher and higher, back arching until all it could see was the sky, the dark clouds quickly dissipating and giving way to the starry night. It could no longer feel the green life, could no longer even feel its own innate energy. The light was piercing it, tearing its very existence from the mortal earth. In that moment the Demon knew one truth: mortals could be destroyed but never truly controlled.

The chanting stopped, the Queen of Beggars’ voice cutting through the profound silence that followed. “And thus for the second time in the known history of The City, the Trickster was destroyed by a trick from a humble thief.”

It was the last thing the Demon heard before it simply ceased to be.

\---

Cold seeped into his skin, heat emanated from his chest. Everything felt wrong. His skin crawled with more than just the feel of soaking leather clinging to him. It felt wrong, but at least it was a feeling. There was hollowness in his chest. It was gone. That creature, that Demon… it was gone.

Garrett’s eyes flew open. He was barely able to turn over before his stomach turned and he was sick. A convulsing shiver overcame him and he was sick again. It was so wrong. The feel of his skin, of his body, of the leather he wore… everything was filthy and not just from the mud he had woken up in. He wiped sick and blood off of his chin and his stomach threatened to empty once more. All those people, all that blood…

Garrett tore at the leather bracer on his arm, tossed it aside, next peeled off the gloves like they burned him and tossed them as far away as he could manage. His face scarf was next to go. Garrett’s hands shook as he tried next to unlace the harness that bound him because he could not breathe, could not breathe, could not-

He collapsed, breaths coming quick and he could not _breathe_. He writhed in the mud, clawing at the lacing, clawing at anything he could, struggling to pull a breath. There was a hand on his shoulder and he lashed out with a cry. His wrist was caught in a gentle grip and only then did he stop. Those familiar cloudy eyes looked down upon him, seemed to see through him, see all that he was feeling, all he had ever felt. There was understanding, mystery, and such deep knowledge in that gaze.

“You did well, Garrett. Not many could have had such influence over a servant of the Trickster as powerful as that.” The Queen of Beggars’ voice was as gentle as the grip on his wrist.

“I killed all those people.” Garrett’s voice was barely a croak. He barely remembered anything after the bright light had encapsulated the Demon wearing his skin, let alone what happened afterwards. Judging by how sore his throat was, he figured it had not gone well for the Demon.

“You did not kill them, Garrett.”

He knew that. He knew that better than the Queen of Beggars did. That did not change the fact that he was still covered in the blood of the men the Demon killed while using his body. It was his hands that had torn the flesh, his teeth that had bit into that man’s throat. Garrett turned away and was sick for the third time. He trembled and hated how weak he must look. Feeling as though there was nothing else left in his stomach, he sat up. His head swam and there was a distant ache behind his right eye.

Erin. He had connected with Erin just before the rain had begun to fall. Had she made it rain? Had she poisoned the Demon’s blood-born plants?

His own questions were interrupted by one from the Queen of Beggars. “Where did that spirit come from?”

That was one question he could answer. “Moira,” Garrett croaked, cleared his throat, began again. “Below Moira Asylum. I came across a sort of shrine. The Demon must have gotten into my head there.”

“A pagan shrine dedicated to the Trickster. He is long dead, destroyed by the sneak thief. The Demon who attached itself to you must have been trapped there for some time.”

“It was the Trickster’s second in command.” Garrett moved to rub his right eye but stopped as he found his hand coated in mud. He was reminded of just how filthy he was. Soaked in blood and rain and caked with mud. His only desire was to wash it away, wash the crawling feeling of his flesh, scrub his mind clean of that malicious Demon who still seemed to lurk deep in him even though Garrett knew it was gone.

“You did well, Garrett,” the Queen of Beggars reassured him once again.

“If you call allowing a Demon to use me to try to take over The City ‘well’ I might stop taking your advice.” Garrett knew he was bitter but he cared little. He just wanted to wash and sleep for three days.

“You did well fighting against him and bringing him here. Tell me Garrett, how did you know to bring him here?” She already knew the answer. She always did. The Queen of Beggars only asked it for Garrett’s benefit, so he could discover the answer for himself.

“It was using Primal power,” Garrett replied simply. She knew about the Primal and somewhere in that black abyss he had remembered that. But he did not say so. He did not have the energy to play these games. He was already shivering from the wet and cold, let alone the shivers that came solely from the waves of disgust that washed over him every time he thought upon all the Demon had done while using his body, that feel of helplessness as he simply looked on, having no control.

“Come inside, Garrett. No doubt you have questions.”

“And you will answer them?” Garrett was dubious. The old woman was not known for giving straight answers and often she made him figure them out for himself.

In response, the Queen of Beggars provided the answer to one question that had been storming about in Garrett’s mind. “Erin was here tonight. It’s true that she did make it rain. She cut off the Demon’s connection to the Trickster’s power source by destroying the plants it created.”

“She really is alive, then.”

“In a sense. Her life hangs in the balance. It is up to you to make sure that balance does not shift.”

Garrett did not know how he was supposed to make The City balanced when he felt as though the world tilted beneath him. He had lost control, has entire being ripped away from him and his autonomy stripped. He had a Demon in his head that night and more demons in the form of humans dogging his every step.

It was only a small reassurance that he had the strength to withstand the will of such a deeply horrifying creature. He only hoped that strength could be applied to creatures that were entirely too human.

**Author's Note:**

> Oh wow I had way too much fun writing this. Sorry if the lore is a bit off, I had to tweak it a bit to get it to fit with the whole Demon thing.


End file.
